


The Connecting Mirror

by Missykay25



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cardtalia, Cardverse, Hetalia, M/M, Romance, UKUS, USUK - Freeform, UsUk/UkUs, Yaoi, aph
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 11:26:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1508777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missykay25/pseuds/Missykay25
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>England thinks that his life will never divert from the horrible, crooked path that it's currently on. I mean, when you have to constantly deal with idiots like America, how could life possibly get any worse? Little does he know that when he discovers a drych mirror, a mirror that allows one to see into different universes, he will become stuck another universe — one in which the luck of the draw is all one has when you're believed to be the Queen of Spades. UsUk, cardverse</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Connecting Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> Haha! So, this is my first posting on here. I will give a cookie to anyone who finds my fanfiction.net account (I don't have the same name). Sorry for any unclear moments in the story. Also, if you catch a grammar or spelling error, let me know so I can correct it.

Arthur tilted his head at the mess before him, grimacing and scrunching his nose. The small, blue hat on his head appeared to defy gravity as it did not fall with the queen's treacherous tilt of the head, and his piercing green eyes narrowed in frustration. In front of him was Alfred, the man who was _supposed_ to be the bloody King of Spades, with his entire outfit torn and caked with mud. The king smiled sheepishly at Arthur, his newly blackened eye standing out on his face as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Let me guess,” Arthur drawled, folding his arms across his chest, “You challenged Ivan to some kind of bloody race or fight. And _lost_.”

“Hey! I take offense to that!” cried Alfred indignantly. “It was a _tie_.”

Arthur growled in irritation and punched the male's shoulder, earning a satisfying yelp. “You bloody git! You can't keep doing this! Ivan is the king of his own bloody kingdom, which, in case you haven't noticed, _could go to war with us with the slightest push_. One day you might just push him too far. My god, you haven't even had your coronation yet, and you're already causing trouble with the Clubs kingdom!” The queen sighed with aggravation, his bushy eyebrows twitching. Why did Alfred have to be so immature?

“I'm not a child. I don't need you mothering me!” Alfred spat, now taking on his own angry expression. “You know, I'm not the only one with problems, you old fart! Just take a look at yourself! You're always trying to be some gentleman, which you're not, then you act like you have a stick up your ass! Really, it's no wonder no one likes you!”

Arthur froze, his jaw tightening and a slight shimmer of water coming over his eyes. He looked down, Alfred's words replaying in his mind over and over again, like a bell in the middle of a strong storm. The queen was not typically a sensitive person; in fact, he was a rather ‘thick-skinned’ individual. But Alfred had hit his weak point.

Alfred seemed to realize what he had done too late, his angry expression melting into one of regret with a widening of his blue eyes. “Artie, I didn't—”

“ . . . I will be in my room, if anyone needs me. Send a servant for me when it is time for supper.” And before Alfred could get a word in, Arthur had whipped his body around and left.

 

 

* * *

 

“Iggyyyy . . . ” America whined, jutting his lower lip out in a pout.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to bloody call me that?! You speak _English_ , so call me England, not some bloody Japanese nickname!” England snapped, tapping the bottom of his meeting notes on the conference table to straighten them. He stood up from his chair and snapped his black briefcase shut, looking at America with an unamused expression.

“Iggy is so much more fun to say, though,” the American replied, quickly moving on, “but that's not the point! C'mon, why don't you want to come with me to McDonald's?”

England rolled his eyes, saying in a deadpanned voice, “I have other plans. Plus, I would rather not eat one of your heart attacks on a bun.”

“Other plans? What d'ya mean _other plans_?”

“I recently discovered a rare artifact called a drych mirror, if you must know,” explained England, raising his nose into the air, “It is supposed—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” America interrupted, already bored with the current topic. “Your usual boring stuff. Well, if you'd rather play with dusty mirrors than hang out with me, I'll leave you to it. Don't come crying to me once you change your mind!”

England, grumbling a ‘bloody git’ under his breath, scoffed as the loudmouthed male took off and left the conference room. Well, at least he finally had some peace and quiet. He was eager to return to his house to get a look at that drych mirror he had found. After all, drych mirrors were very rare; it made sense for an object with powerful enough magic to let one see into a parallel universe to be not so common.

After driving home in his car, England was quick to walk down to his basement. The Brit looked at all the contents of the room with a smile that he would only keep for himself. Everything held some kind of meaning to him in this room — even the probably ancient desk in one corner of the room with innumerable stacks of papers on it, his old pirate outfit folded on top of the trunk in another point in the room, and the table in the center of the room with stacks of his black magic books and objects.

He moved to light a candle on the large table in the center, since he had always refused to put electrical lights down here. It would do you no good to ask him why; the man didn't quite know the reason himself.

England picked up the candle and moved to the side of the basement where he had put the drych mirror. It was a rather pretty thing, consisting of silver engravings with bright rubies embedded on the upper rim of the mirror. It was full-sized and was slightly taller than England's own form, probably a few inches taller at least.

“Now, let's see . . . How do I activate you?” the male muttered to himself, putting his candle closer to the mirror. He narrowed his eyes in an attempt to make out the markings written in the silver that he was now noticing. Were those strange, foreign words an incantation of some kind? To test the theory, England spoke the words under his breath, and then, out of nowhere, there was a bright flash of light. The Brit winced and covered his eyes until the light disappeared, which it did very quickly. He blinked at the mirror and tilted his head at what he now saw in the glass.

It wasn't him.

Well, it wasn't him in the sense of his reflection. It was most definitely _him_ , he could now tell, in the mirror, but a different version of him. The other him was in very fancy attire, all colored dark indigo, and had a small hat on his head that looked like it should have fallen to the floor by now. However, the sight of his other self was much more depressing than he would have liked. He was sitting on the floor with his back against the side of his bed, one knee propped up so he could put his elbow there to easily rest his face on his hand. His shoulders shook with silent sobs, as if he would not even dare let anyone hear his crying.

“Bloody hell,” England muttered, more to himself. “What happened to you?”

The other him snapped his head up, his green eyes now staring into England's own pair. _“Who are you?!”_ he asked, immediately standing up.

“Wait, you can _hear_ me? And _see_ me, too?”

“Of course I can! I'm not bloody blind or deaf! Now why are you . . . in my mirror . . . ?” the man's voice dropped off once he realized something. “ . . . You look exactly like me.”

“Of course I do. You're looking through a mirror that lets you see into another universe, after all,” England explained with a slight smirk. “My name is the kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. You may call me England.”

“ . . . I am Arthur Kirkland, Queen of Spades.”

England furrowed his bushy eyebrows at the response. “Wait, did you say you were a queen? As in a female ruler?”

“Bloody hell, do I look female? I am male, thank you very much,” growled Arthur in an offended tone, “but yes, I am a queen. I take care of foreign affairs and some matters with the Spade Parliament.”

“ . . . Human?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Of course I'm human. Is that optional?”

“It is where I'm considered,” was England's simple response. “You have no idea how bloody lucky you are to be human.”

“If you're not human, then just what are you?” Arthur asked quietly, tilting his head. “And I would not consider myself lucky in any form of the word. Not when I have to deal with such an insufferable idiot like that blasted Alfred.”

“Once you live a few hundred years as the personification of a country, you come to see how lucky mortals are.” England pulled a wooden chair close to the mirror and crossed his legs as he sat down before he asked another question, “And who exactly is this Alfred? Maybe I know him in this world as well. I unfortunately am acquainted with many idiots.”

“He's the damn idiot who was discovered to be the King of Spades, the idiot I'll be forced to marry once he's coronated. He never seems to be out of energy or stupid things to say, and he is constantly getting himself into fights.”

England snorted. “This Alfred wouldn't happen to have a hero complex with an insanely huge ego, would he?”

Arthur blinked in surprise at first, then nodded his head. “Yes,” he affirmed, “Most annoying and idiotic person I've ever met.”

“Ah, I have a version of this Alfred, too. His name is America,” said England, “and I would never be able to imagine marrying that bloody twit. This is probably a stupid question, but why do you have to marry him?”

“Law of the land. If I don't marry him, the Spade kingdom will be consumed in chaos,” Arthur explained with a sigh. “Hey, um, I have this birthmark that identifies me as the Queen of Spades on my chest. Do you . . . ?”

England smiled wryly and unbuttoned his shirt a little and, pulling his shirt back, revealed a very small, nearly unnoticeable crown-shaped birthmark. Arthur's face fell at the sight.

“I see,” said Arthur, now looking very small as he placed his palm against the glass of his mirror, “It seems that fate has left its cursed mark on every version of me.”

England made no vocal response, merely taking on his own sorrowful look and placing his hand against the mirror as well. Just as his flesh touched the glass, however, something unexpected happened. There was a brilliant flash of light and a sudden lack of substance between the two's feet. They let out surprised screams as it felt like their stomachs were being twisted and their bodies were being lifted into the air.

And then, they fell into darkness.

 

* * *

 

 

When England awoke, he was in a very soft bed with equally soft pajamas. He quickly found that he was practically drowning in unfamiliar silk sheets as he forced his eyes open, groaning as light painfully hit his eyes. He had one of the worst migraines imaginable, along with a strange soreness all throughout his body. The pain wasn't quite hangover worthy; it was more like he was waking up from a fight that hadn't gone in his favor. Just what had happened?

“ARTIE! YOU'RE AWAKE!” a voice exclaimed, arms around England quickly accompanying the exclamation. The Brit cursed under his breath and squirmed away from the arms, now sitting up and glaring. He scrunched his nose at the sight of America, who was wearing much different clothing compared to his usual suit and bomber jacket.

“Bloody hell, America!” England practically squawked, “What do you think you're bloody doing?!”

“Who's America?” the male beside him asked, tilting his head, “and I hugged you because I was worried. I mean, when a servant told me that you were face down on the floor and not moving, wouldn't you be worried? You were unconscious, for crying out loud! Yao said that you had probably fainted from exhaustion or somethin' like that, but you were unconscious for a week, so I was starting to wonder if you'd ever wake up.”

“America is you, you blasted idiot,” England growled, his frown deepening the more this America look-a-like went into his explanation. “Who the bloody hell is Yao? And unconscious for a week? What the bloody hell is going on, America? Where am I?”

The look-a-like frowned, now becoming concerned for the individual in front of him. “No, my name is Alfred, Artie. And you know Yao — the kingdom's Jack and your old tutor . . . C'mon, Artie, you know him, right?”

“I have no bloody idea what you're talking about. Now, I repeat, where the hell am I?”

“Your room in the castle. Are you feeling all right, dude?” The male put a hand on England's forehead to check for a fever, but the Brit hissed and squirmed away from the hand, his emerald eyes narrowing with distrust. The look-a-like rolled his blue eyes, as if he was used to such antics. “Hey! I'm just tryin' to help! No need to bite my head off. You're just freaking me out, Arthur! You're acting like you've never been here in your life!”

At the name ‘Arthur’, everything suddenly all came back to England as if a light switch had been flipped.

The mirror. Arthur. Other universe.

 _Oh_.

Shit.

“Oh, I know what's going on here . . . ” England groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Good. 'Cause I sure as hell don't.”

England snorted at the reply, shooing the look-a-like away slightly so he could stand up. He wobbled for a second, nearly falling, but he still shot a glare when the look-a-like tried to reach out to help him. He stumbled with his hand against the wall of the room, then walked towards the mirror that was hung on the wall, a large window right beside it. However, he was quickly disappointed by what he saw.

The mirror was cracked.


	2. Is Seemingly Similar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. This update is overdue. I apologize for the long wait, but on the bright side, this is a very long chapter. My reasoning for the late update would be a mixture of having seizures and school. I apologize for that. Also, I really wanted to have a whole scene with Yao, but I really wanted to get this update to you guys. So here you go! If you see any grammar or spelling errors, let me know so I can correct it :)

Groaning and shifting awkwardly, Arthur found himself unwillingly working his way back to consciousness' hold. He shivered and curled his unusually stiff and sore body to protect himself from a sudden, freezing chill. His indigo overcoat did little for the cold, though he tried to bring it tighter around him as if it would bring himself added warmth.

Odd, he thought with a perplexed frown as he forced his cat-like eyes open. Had he fallen asleep on the floor and forgotten to close the window? That was very unlike him.

He sat and rubbed his eyes blearily, trying to make his eyes become used to the dark room that he found himself in. Once his eyes had somewhat adjusted, his face became pensive and confused. This certainly was _not_ his room. It appeared to be a cellar or basement of some kind, judging by the lack of windows.

He stood up and stretched, wincing at the feeling of a headache jabbing at his temples. Maybe he had simply become drunk last night, and this place — wherever this place _was_ — was where he had ended up. It unfortunately would not be the first time such an event had occurred to the male. But he almost instantly dismissed the idea, not really feeling to usual effects of a dreaded hangover.

The queen stumbled through the darkness, eventually finding stone steps that led him to an old wooden door slowly decaying with age. He grasped and twisted the door's metal doorknob and went through the doorway, squinting his eyes as light hit them.

He looked around curiously and began moving through the building, finding himself in a long hallway with paintings mounted carefully on the walls. His hands dusted lightly over the frames, the male tilting his head inquisitively at the brush strokes that created the forms of people, whom appeared to be important and the very faces of sophistication.

Okay. So definitely not in the castle. Perhaps some aristocrat's home, then.

Just as Arthur ventured into what looked like a kitchen, he jumped nearly ten feet into the air at the sound of some kind of machine letting out a loud _beep!_ The queen instantly whipped around to look at the counter, where the strange noise-making machine lay. He cautiously poked it, then flinched once the machine let out a voice that sounded suspiciously like his own.

_“This is England's residence. I'm currently doing something important right now. You know what to do; leave a message. Unless it's you, France! Then leave me the bloody hell alone!”_

Arthur frowned as the machine beeped once again. Why did the name England sound strangely familiar? He had little time to think on the matter, however, for another voice began speaking from the futuristic machine.

 _“Bonjour, Angleterre. You haven't answered any of moi's calls — as usual — but I am becoming worried! You missed today's meeting, and you never do that. Whe—”_ the voice was cut off by some grumbling and shoving noises, another voice quickly replacing the sounds.

_“Iggy! Where the hell are you? Me and Francy-pants are coming to find out! It's not cool to miss a meeting without offering the hero a chance at skipping with you! We'll be there in ten minutes!”_

And, just like that, there was a click and the voices stopped. Almost simultaneous with the final end of voices, Arthur felt his head rush as he remembered everything about the mirror.

_Fuck._

 

* * *

 

England felt his eyes widen and the blood drain from his face. The mirror was not shattered into glass pieces that separated themselves from the mirror and fell to the floor like one might have thought; rather, the crack was merely a long, fierce line with thinner lines going from it like the tributaries of a river. And in such a condition, it was clear the mirror would not be active for a _very_ long time.

“No . . . ” England murmured hopelessly, putting his palm against the glass. “You've got to be kidding me!”

Alfred frowned and walked over to where England stood, his blue eyes flicking between the Brit and the mirror. “Hey, don't be upset, dude. It's just a mirror,” the male tried to comfort, putting a hand on England's shoulder. “We can always have it fixed or replaced.”

 _“Don't. Touch. Me,”_ England growled dangerously, pushing the look-a-like away. “Can't you see? I am not your Arthur! For God's sake, I'm not even _human_. I am the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, otherwise known as _England_. This mirror that you so blatantly think is of no value is my only bloody way of getting home and the only way that your Arthur can return. So, do not say that it is _nothing_.”

Alfred let his hand fall limp at his side, staring and blinking with confusion at the person he believed to be the queen. He tilted his head with pure and utter bafflement, then blinked and stared again. This went on for about a minute until Alfred finally found words again.

“Look, I know you don't like me that much. I mean, you've basically been ruling fine on your own for years. I would probably hate suddenly having to marry a person that I barely knew, then being forced to rule alongside them,” Alfred began, frowning, “but that doesn't mean you shouldn't at least _try_ to work with me here. I don't want to get married this soon in life as much as you do — I mean, you're fine and all, I just don't want to get married yet — but you don't see me making up weird, _clearly_ fake stories and treating _you_ like an idiot.”

England let out an irritated groan and rolled his eyes. “You bloody git, don't you dare insinuate that I am a liar! Why would I create such an elaborate story just to make you look like an idiot?” he reasoned, throwing his hands up before adding, “Really, you're just like _my_ America. Both complete bleeding idiots unable to read into the situation.”

Alfred opened his mouth, ready to retort, when there came a knock on the door. The knock seemed to break the tension of the fight, the two redirecting their attentions to the bedroom's door.

“My King, the Royal Tailor has requested your presence. Your coronation outfit needs to be fitted,” said a female voice, presumably a maid's, behind the door.

Alfred sighed, looking exasperated as he said, “I'll be right there, Angeline. Tell the tailor I'll only be a moment.” He looked back at England, his face contorted quite clearly with uncertainty. His large, sky-colored orbs appeared to display his sudden guilt like a painting, though a grin attempted to make its way onto his features.

“Ugh. All these stupid fittings. Why do I have to get all of these stuffy clothes? I'd much rather wear the clothing I had before,” he said jokingly with a loud laugh, but the laugh quickly died off awkwardly in his throat when England's face remained unamused. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck uneasily, then let his voice take on a very uncharacteristic seriousness, “Okay, uh, _England_. I'm not really sure I can believe you. This is a pretty weird and unbelievable story, after all, but I can tell that you're not lying right now. So, uh, I can show you to the library, where Yao probably is. He should be able to help.”

England gave a satisfied nod, glad that this was finally going somewhere. “All right. Sounds good to me.” 

 

* * *

 

Feeling extraordinarily alone and lost after the ‘strange noise-making machine’ had stopped talking, Arthur had been left with little to do other than wander throughout the house. The queen gazed at walls, paintings, and vases with a forlorn look inside his eyes, biting his lower lip and rubbing his left arm with the opposite one in a frightened, lonely manner. While the Spadian did appreciate the alone time he rarely got in the castle, this silence was deafening and hollowing. There was no life other than him inside the large home, and it was all too strange to the ears of one used to hearing the bustle of the castle beyond his room. Arthur wondered how his other self was able to stand such stillness.

The disquieted male had been deep in his thoughts when there was a soft jingling noise akin to a bell. He immediately stiffened, but he could not help being slightly curious and inquisitive as to what was making the sound.

 _‘It's not as if I have anything else to do in this silent wasteland, so it couldn't hurt to look around,’_ he thought with frown. With that in mind, it seemed natural for him to go search the house.

The queen did not have to go very far, as it turns out. He had merely followed the sound into what appeared to be a drawing room when he found the source of the jingling. The male watched in surprise as a small, Scottish fold cat walked from an adjacent room into the current one. Looking closer, he noticed a tiny, jingling bell attached to the cat's red collar, which moved as it walked. A smile made its way to his lips, for he had a very similar cat back in his world.

Arthur crossed the room before crouching in front of the cat, who rubbed against his leg upon recognizing the man he thought to be his owner. The Spadian felt happy at finding something inside the home that was breathing instead of being made of wood or glass. He softly pet the Scottish fold's head, earning a purr, and picked up the animal so he could pet it in his arms.

“Hello there, London...” Arthur murmured before letting his smile turn wry, “or whatever you are called in this world. It is nice to find that I am not alone in this dreadful place.” Only receiving a slight mewl in reply, the man sighed. “I guess you wouldn't able to talk, since you're just a cat... However, that is still better than nothing in this place.” The queen had merely stood up again with the cat still in his arms when he heard a door slam open.

“Iggy! The hero and his less awesome sidekick are here!” he heard a voice echo throughout the house, which the Spadian immediately recognized to belong to one of the voices he had heard on the noise-making machine.

Arthur frowned and inched towards the doorway, peaking his head out in an attempt to see the men who were speaking, and he nearly fainted. It was Alfred and that bloody King of Diamonds! Of course, he knew that they were merely different versions of his own, but actually seeing them put a disbelieving expression on his face.

“Amérique, must you be so loud? Also, I am most certainly _not_ your sidekick,” the Francis look-a-like huffed, and Arthur was suddenly filled with the need to punch the man.

The copy of Alfred snorted. “Well, how else will he know I'm—” His eyes locked with Arthur's green ones, making the queen freeze. “Iggy!”

Both eyes of the new men were now focused on him as they approached, and the Spadian found himself shrinking under their gazes. The cat in his arms must have sensed his inner turmoil, for it let out a loud hiss in the direction of the newcomers, making the males pause in front of Arthur.

“Angleterre, where have you been? You missed the meeting today!” the Francis look-a-like asked before adding, “Have you finally become senile and forgot we had a meeting today?”

Arthur scowled, wanting to throttle the look-a-like as much as the Francis in his own world. How _wonderful_.

“Yeah!” the one resembling Alfred exclaimed. “Did you forget? Or did you skip? In that case, it's not cool that you didn't let me in on it! And dude, what the hell is with your clothes?”

Oh, look. Here come the migraines that he frequently got in his world.

“Will you both shut up and let me speak?” Arthur growled. “For starters, no, I did not skip this apparent meeting, because it was not _my_ meeting to go to. I am not ‘Iggy’ or ‘Angleterre’ or whatever you have called me, for I am not from your world. I am from a parallel universe, and my real title is Queen Arthur Kirkland of Spades.”

The two in front of him went quiet for a moment before bursting into laughter. Arthur's face turned red with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

“Dude, wow! I thought you didn't have it in you to joke around like that!” said Alfred's look-a-like, bending forward with his arms on his stomach as he laughed loudly. “‘ _Queen of Spades’_! Oh my God, that's hilarious!”

“I am not joking!” Arthur snapped angrily. “I meant everything I said!”

The two stopped laughing once they realized that the man in front of them was being completely serious. The Alfred look-a-like frowned with newfound concern. “Uh, are feeling okay, England?” he asked, pausing.

Arthur felt like pulling his hair out with frustration. “How many times do I have to tell you? I am not England, and I am perfectly healthy. I came to your world through a mirror that _your_ version of me activated.”

“Mirror...? You mean the one you said you were going to check out at the meeting a week ago?”

“That was probably the mirror your England activated, ye—” Arthur cut himself off as his face dawned with realization. “Wait a second, did you say a _week_ ago? I was unconscious for a week and none of you wankers went to look for your version of me? Does my other self really not have _any_ reliable friends?” he asked incredulously.

 _‘Of course not,’_ a voice inside his head said. _‘He's a copy of you, after all.’_

“You were unconscious for a week?!” the Francis copy exclaimed in a disbelieving voice.

Arthur let out a sigh. He was going to have a hard time explaining and dealing with these fools, it seemed.

 

* * *

 

When the Brit had changed out of the pajamas that were given to him and put on rather odd clothing, he had been left to explain his situation to the next individual he had met in this strange world, which had made his face almost instantly contort with frustration as he tried to explain everything to Yao, whom was more adamant in believing that England was their queen. Eventually, however, Yao settled with the male simply having amnesia (though he did not voice this sentiment aloud), and pointed England in the direction of a certain section of the library, leaving the other to pour over the books. Hopefully, the Jack had thought, the books would spark some kind of memory in the “amnesiac”.

The male had stayed in the library for hours, picking up whatever he could find on magic and magical objects. He chose a spot by a window and sat on the windowsill, leafing through each book carefully. He was careful to absorb every word and every page. He could not afford to miss anything that could possibly help him return home.

England sighed, his eyes reaching out for the words in yet another gigantic book he had found. He scrunched his nose as he flipped another page. Just how long had he been reading useless books? It felt like an eternity. And all the information he had obtained was worthless, too. The books had strange ideas about magic, albeit, but none of it would help him in his current predicament.

Just as he was about to give up, however, his eyes caught the title of an interesting set of paragraphs on the book he was reading:

_Connecting Mirrors._

_It is often believed that our universe is the only one. Even the Great Jack Merlin, a Jack that is often thought to be the most powerful wizard of all time, is quoted saying: “Our universe is a large one, full of countless wonders and unending skies. However, it is unique and the only of its kind. We must not take it all for naught that we have this universe, for, if we were to lose it, we would be left lifelessly drifting in darkness.” But in reality, there are many universes like our own. There is even a copy of the same person in each universe, but with some slight difference, which could range from different past decisions, personalities, or different destinies all together. These universes are sealed off from our own with powerful magic to prevent the universes from colliding, which would cause the end of time itself. It is, however, possible to travel between the universes safely without damaging the timelines._

_The way of traveling between the universes is a rather simple looking thing. It is a mirror, or more aptly described as a Connecting Mirror. There is one in each of the four kingdoms, all hidden under the pretense that they are a normal mirror. It is important to realize that only those with an exceptional magical capability will the mirror allow usage._

_There is one more thing one should know about using a Connecting Mirror. Since there is a copy of the same person in each universe, the two versions of a person will have to switch worlds in order to make up for the balance, whether they choose to or not. The switched person will have to note that they cannot stay in the world for long, for the memories of their other version's life will begin to overwhelm them. If accepted, the memories will become permanent and the person shall replace their other self. However, if the memories are rejected—_

Out of nowhere, the book was suddenly ripped from England's hands and snapped shut. The Brit's emerald eyes immediately flicked upwards to find his offender. His eyes found a tall male with broad shoulders and finely toned muscles, oddly pale skin peaking out from appendages not covered in clothing. His clothing was rather modern (all things considered from what he had seen so far from the world) and consisted of a red shirt with a slim, black jacket and slacks. His hair was a mop of white with two black horns poking out, and his eyes were a shocking shade of crimson. And _bloody hell_ , was that a _pointed tail_ waving behind his back?

 _‘Prussia . . . ’_ England thought, a frown forming on his lips. _‘Or at least this world's version of him.’_

“Why, what do we have here?” the albino asked with a smirk. He looked at the book in his unnaturally pale hands, flipping through the pages with a hum. “Someone's peeking at some information that they really _shouldn't_ be. Information that, actually, shouldn't be here in the first place. Let's take care of that.” He threw the book into the air, but before the book could even reach the ground, it burst into flames and was completely reduced to ashes.

England felt a sudden rage pulse through him as he stood up and glared at the albino who was, admittedly, taller than him. “You _bastard_! That was my only way home!”

The albino let out a burst of laughter, all with that irritating lisp that even his Prussia had. “Aw, did I piss you off, Eyebrows? How cute,” he taunted, leaning forward slightly. “No need to worry, Eyebrows. You've already seen what you needed to. What you didn't see wasn't essential.”

“Wasn't essential? What the hell does that even mean? And don't call me Eyebrows!” England snapped, his hands balling into fists.

The albino seemed to be unaffected by the insults, going to sit where the Brit had previously been. He put his hands behind his head and looked at the shorter male with that _oh-so irritating_ smirk. “So, Eyebrows, what's the other me like? Is he just as awesome?”

The Brit paused for a second at how the albino knew he wasn't from this world. After all, from what he had gathered, he wasn't really that different from the one they called ‘Arthur.’

“He's just as much of an annoying ass as you are,” he said dismissively. “Now, how did you know that I wasn't your Arthur?”

“Ouch. Seems you both have that fiery temper,” the albino snorted. “As for your question, that's for me to know, and you to find out.”

“Hey, Ar— I mean, England!”

The two paused and looked over in the direction of the new voice, and their eyes were met with the sight of a grinning Alfred walking towards them. England inwardly groaned, but the albino beside him waved in greeting.

“Hey, Al!” the albino exclaimed, his pointed tail waving behind his back.

“Oh, Gilbert!” the king said excitedly to the albino now dubbed as Gilbert. “Dude, when did you get here? I haven't seen you since I was found out to be king.”

Gilbert smirked devilishly and laughed, putting a hand on the shorter British male's head. “I've been here a while. Just scoping out the latest oddity.”

“Wanker,” England huffed, crossing his arms.

“Oh, right! The whole other world thing. You find out anything interesting?” Alfred asked, cocking his head sideways.

England snorted and shook his head. “Just a load of rubbish about there being other mirrors in other kingdoms. Unfortunately, it did not give an exact location,” he scoffed before narrowing his eyes on Gilbert. “Or maybe it _would_ have mentioned an exact location, and I would know exactly what to do, had this blasted idiot not burned the _only_ bloody book I found with helpful information before I could finish reading!”

Gilbert snickered at the display from the Brit that clearly did not intimidate him in the slightest. “Oh, well, looks like I better be going. I have other matters to attend to.” The albino waved and, just with a snap of his fingers, disappeared.

“Man, Yao is going to be so pissed once he hears that Gilbo burned one of the library's books,” Alfred commented, looking back at England with a grin. The Brit could not even fathom how the blue-eyed blond could remain so calm despite the fact that Prussia's rather irritating counterpart had literally disappeared into thin air in front of them.

“ _That's_ what you're concerned about?” England asked incredulously. “The bloody guy — who had horns and a tail, I might add! — literally disappeared in front of you, and you're concerned about how mad Yao will be when he finds out about a destroyed book?” Alfred stared for a moment, unresponsive, then suddenly let out a bark of amused laughter at the statement, which succeeded in making England blush harshly in embarrassment. “What's so funny?!” he snapped angrily.

“It's just—” Alfred took off his glasses and wiped a tear away from the corner of his eye, grinning and laughing like an idiot. “You remind me of how I reacted to how calm my Arthur was after seeing Gilbert disappear. It's different with you being in my previous position.”

England frowned a little, tilting his head. “What do you mean?” He asked, and upon seeing Alfred's blank face, he elaborated further, “I mean, if I have understood everything so far, you are a king, correct? You must have been some form of royalty or nobility before hand to have been engaged to, er, Arthur. If that's so, shouldn't you have been used to such things or people like Gilbert, whom's existence I assume is kept within those of higher rank? I only assume this because I've literally been reading nearly everything on magic in here for hours, and I haven't read anything about disappearing people with horns and tails.”

Alfred hummed and put his glasses back on. “There's the fault in your story,” he chirped, smiling and tapping the frame of his glasses. “I wasn't nobility before I was engaged to Arthur. I was a Ten, which is just about as low as our ranking system goes. Royalty isn't decided by ranking or family, as I guess it is in yours. Ours is decided by the Spades Clocks. There are three of them for the king, queen, and jack — respectively, of course. They're kind of magic, you see. Once their owner dies, they stop ticking and will only start ticking again once their new owner, who is chosen seemingly at random, holds it.”

England nodded and processed all the information. This world was very different from his own — the system of government, the acceptance and frequent appearance of magic — and all of it sent his mind reeling, though he felt like he grasped the idea well enough. The culture shock (a term which he felt accurately described his current predicament) was unnerving and isolating to the Englishman. He felt a sudden pang of homesickness, aching to see the bustling streets of London once more and desperately wishing to see a familiar face that belonged to whom he believed them to be, not a mere copy. He, despite not being in the world for long, found that he missed home terribly.

“I see,” the Brit said after a minute with a rather forlorn expression. England mentally berated himself for allowing his mind to linger on his feelings of being extraordinarily misplaced and lost in a world he knew little about, and he immediately tried to keep his conversation with Alfred going in order to distract himself.

“So, what exactly is Gilbert?” he asked.

“A joker,” was the king's simple reply. “There isn't really much known about them except what has been passed down orally through generations of kings, queens, jacks, and nobles. They are the keepers of the Keikaku, which, if I remember, is Eastern Heartish for ‘plan.’ The Keikaku is a legendary book that is said to hold the past, present, and future within its pages. Oh, and the jokers have really awesome influential magic, too! It totally sucks, though! The jokers never give a straight answer to anything, and they only use magic when _they_ want to! They only appear when weird, important, or bad stuff is going on. It really blows, man.”

“That does rather explain things, since the bastard kept vaguely replying to everything I asked,” the Brit commented with irritated frown. “And I do suppose my appearance in this world does fit pretty well under the strange category.”

“Yeah...” Alfred hummed in agreement before suddenly realizing something. “Oh, right! I nearly forgot! The real reason I came to get you was to tell you that dinner is ready. Man, I hope it's not cold now! That would suck!”

Arthur rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. Perhaps Alfred wasn't so different from his America. “Then lead the way before it gets even colder, ya git.”


End file.
